The Way of the Infected
by Kaito X Len - Banana Split
Summary: Nick has gotten separated from the group and has been hurt, leaving him unconscious on the bayou floor. He's rescued by a gang of Special Infected who have retained their humanity and decide to take him in. What trials, tricks, and escapades will he face? He'll need to learn the ways of the Infected to stay alive... and keep his sanity -barely- Rated T for language and romance


_**Well, I'm surprised. Never played the game, only read about it, and yet, I'm obsessed.**_

_**My first Left 4 Dead fanfic. Please be gentle, as I'll store flames in my flamethrower and burn Tanks with them.**_

_**Oh, there's a Screamer in this. The Screamer was a cut zombie idea. It would've been an Infected mental patient that screamed and attracted a horde.**_

_**Disclaimer: VALVE OWNS LEFT 4 DEAD AND LEFT 4 DEAD 2. I OWN THIS SEMI-CRAPPY STORY (WHICH USES L4D2 CHARACTERS) AND MY OCs.**_

_**As Yetka the Tank will say in this story, "Get it, got it, good."**_

* * *

His legs were numb and his lungs were pleading for more air than he supplied them. His vision blurred and acquired a hazy, black frame from the lack of oxygen. He had a number of very minor scrapes on his body, but he harbored a set of gashes on his side that bled quite a bit, causing him pain with every stride. And yet he still pushed on through the mess of bald cyprus trees, weeds, and other assorted foliage the people in this area called a bayou.

Nick was sprinting for his life, sprinting away from the biggest horde he'd seen in a very long time, at least eighteen Common Infected, two Hunters, a Boomer, and he thought he saw a Spitter. It was about midnight on a sweltering July night, he had managed to get separated from the group and had (literally) ran into the horde, and now, he had no idea where he was, no idea where to go, and no idea what to do next except to run for his life. His guns had absolutely no ammo left. He couldn't think about a strategy, as thinking required valuable energy that could be used for running instead, even if he was just blindly dashing around.

He tripped over a particularly large and protruding root. Grunting in pain as he hit the ground, he frantically crawled for a bit, then got up and kept running, though greatly slowed from the pain and exhaustion that finally caught up with him. He couldn't hear the horde anymore, but that might have been because of all the blood rushing in his ears. His heart was pumping loud as a drum in his throat, and he could barely breathe with its pulsing. Gasping and panting, he collapsed.

"Please don't... get... me... I... can't run... anymore... Have... mercy..." He wheezed quietly. Closing his eyes, he waited painfully for his heart to slow down. He was almost glad he had gotten separated from the group, because he didn't want the others to see him cry as his body failed him and he slipped into unconsciousness.

**_X~X~X_**

"Niki! Slow down, c'mon! You know I'm not a Hunter! I can't run that fast!" Warren panted, his main Smoker tongue lolling about. Warren and his best friend, Nikita, were returning home after getting some excersize and having fun in the swamp's foliage.

"Use your tongue to swing from the branches, numb-nut!" Nikita chortled in reply, hopping deftly onto another branch like Hunters did.

"I will end you and everything you love," Warren growled, running closer to the line of trees.

"Alright, let's start with you!" Nikita laughed, pouncing on another branch. Warren rolled his eyes, but used the suggestion of his friend. He stretched the tongue on the back of his neck to latch onto a branch and swing on it like a monkey. Gaining enough momentum, he let go and hooked onto a nearby branch, and then repeated the process. He quickly to the hang of it, and eventually he caught up with Niki.

"Not so fast now, huh?" Warren smirked up at the copper-headed Hunter, who had taken his hood off. The moon's light didn't irritate his sensitive eyes.

"I didn't know you'd be this quick to catch up. Wanna race?" Nikita asked with a grin.

"Nah. I'm too tired, and I wanna go home," Warren replied, letting out a short sigh. Looking down, he realized he was pretty high up. Liking the view (and not being afraid of heights), he continued to look down upon the forest in front and to the right of him, and the swampy river waters to his left.

He stopped short a few seconds later.

"Niki... Niki, come look at this..." Warren let go of the branch, alighted on the ground, and trotted over to what he had seen. Niki plopped down beside him, eyes wide.

"Who do you think that is? He's a Survivor, I know that because of the firing stick thingies on his back and in the brown thing on his thigh," Niki said, shaking the man's shoulder to see if he was responsive. He wasn't.

"Firing stick thingies? They're called guns, Niki dear," Warren scowled, putting a hand on his hip. "And I don't know who he is. Why would I?"

"Whatever. Anyways, his suit's kinda bloody; maybe he's wounded," Nikita started to unbutton the blue shirt and move the suit away so he could see the man's skin better. When he was finished, he gaped at the large, but shallow gouges on the man's torso.

"Oh my God, that's gonna get infected; it covers such a large area, that is _not_ good..." He whispered. "W-We gotta take him home and patch him up before he dies, or his wounds get infected, or something!"

"_What?_ **_Are you crazy?_**" Warren hissed. "He's a _Survivor._ What if he wakes up and shoots us both? You gotta remember, we are still Special Infected, even if we retained our humanity. He doesn't know that, so he'll shoot us."

"I don't think he's waking up anytime soon. He looks completely exhausted," Nikita grimaced.

"We still can't take him. I... I dunno about him. I don't trust him," Warren murmured.

"You haven't even met him yet. How can you already be such a butt-hole to him?" Nikita folded his arms.

"'Cuz it's my specialty," Warren retorted.

"I'm bringing him home. Screw you," Nikita would not change his mind and he closed the man's shirt and picked him up. Stumbling as he stood, he started to run toward home. Warren let out a long, throaty groan, and reluctantly followed the Hunter back to the house.

_I don't care what anyone says. All of my friends and I want to prove that we can help humans win against the virus, even though our bodies are tainted by it. This could be our tester to see if we're up to the test,_ Nikita thought as he raced through the (luckily open) door to his house.

"Welcome home, you two. You're late. Niki, what are you holding?" Lindsie (a Witch) greeted Nikita and Warren, and her eyes fell onto the limp, tall body in Niki's arms.

"I'm holding an unconsious Survivor, as you can see. He's got a bunch of huge woulds, and there may be more on his back, I don't know. But we gotta take care of him," Nikita explained, laying the body down carefully on the couch. The man let out a small groan, but didn't stir.

"W-Why did you b-b-bring a Survivor here? H-He could kill us o-once he wakes up!" Harley (a Jockey) exclaimed nervously, lolloping into the room.

"That's exactly what Warren said. Screw that. By the time he wakes up, we'll have healed him; he owes us somethin', and that somethin' would be not killing us on sight," Nikita glared icily.

"Yetka not sure," A very small and skinny Tank (by Tank standards), Yetka, wandered in, having heard the conversation.

"Yeah. Neither am I," A Screamer agreed. "He has firing stick thingies."

"THEY'RE GUNS!"

"Hey Batu!" Nikita stopped glaring and waved at the teen in a straitjacket, happy to see him.

"Heya!" Batukhan wiggled his shoulders in his special gesture of greeting, as he almost never took off his white, fluffly jacket. His long, black hair bounced around in the motion.

"Anyways, back to the convo we were having. You can't keep him here," Lindsie sat on a dark mauve armchair. Batu picked her up and sat her on his lap.

"Why not?"

"B-Becuase he has a firing stick thingy!" Harley hollered, still quaking.

_"IT IS CALLED A GUN, FOR GOD'S SAKE! **NOT** A FIRING STICK THINGY_!" Warren snapped. Harley whimpered and hid behind Yetka, who patted his head.

"**Someone's** bitter..." Batu muttered.

"Shut up!"

"Back to business, guys. Niki, Survivors are an unpredictable bunch. He might be nice, he might be bat-crap crazy. We don't know for sure. And I don't think we want to risk keeping him here if he's bat-crap crazy and has weapons," Lindsie said.

"Why are you guys so afraid of him? We outnumber him, we can put his weapons somewhere where he can reach them, but doesn't immediately know where they are, and he's not going to wake up with a gun in his hand. Don't you guys see it? We've ALWAYS wanted to help out, but we've been too afraid to try, fearing we'll die before we can explain that we're trying to help the Survivors. This guy could be the first one we help! He won't shoot us right now, 'cuz he's asleep," Nikita went over to a cupboard in the kitchen and pulled out a bright red med-kit. Walking briskly to the couch, he set the med-kit on the coffee table and opened it.

He glowered up at his companions. "I don't care if you don't want to help. I'll do it myself, and I'll suffer the consequences alone, if you want," He snarled. Taking out the gauze and two bottles, one of water and another of soap, he sat the man up and removed his jacket. Slowly unbuttoning the azure shirt, he shuddered as he saw the slash wounds.

_I'm glad he's asleep. This would sting pretty bad if he wasn't, _Nikita thought as he wet a cotton ball with the water and put a little soap on it.

"The wound are large, but they're really, really shallow. Seems like a Witch barely grazed him; he's a lucky, lucky man to have avoided her or shot her before he got really hurt. It should heal in about five days, tops," Nikita heard a voice behind him, and saw a thin, gray hand start to swab the areas of the wound that Nikita hadn't gotten to. "If you're gonna heal him, I might as well help," The voice added, exasperation apparent.

"Thanks, Warren," Nikita beamed, giving a quick shoulder-hug to his friend.

"You owe me," Grumbled the Smoker.

"I know. How much chocolate do you want?"

"Three tons."

"You know I can't supply that."

"Then give me half of your stock," Warren grinned cockily.

"Maybe," Nikita laughed. "You know how I am with chocolate."

"I-I'm gonna help, too. Y-Y'know, he m-might be nice and n-not shoot the ones w-who helped him. I d-don't want to risk getting shot," Harley murmured, more or less to himself, removing the shirt. He pointed to the man's back, and spoke a little louder. "G-Guys, maybe he has some w-w-wounds on his back."

"Good idea, Harley. You keep him steady, and Warren'll clean the wounds on his back. I'm gonna dress this one," Nikita answered, nodding at the largest wound. Harley sat the man up, and Warren started to clean the scratches and scrapes.

The room was silent, though the other three chose to help out in their own ways. Batu and Yetka prepared the guest room, and Lindsie checked their money and made sure there was enough to support them all. They would probably have one more person to feed for quite a while; Niki had gotten his way.

_**X~X~X  
A Few Minutes Later...  
X~X~X**_

"Well, there we go. He's all patched up. Happy?" Warren glared half-heartedly at Nikita. Though he'd never admit it, it felt good to help someone in need.

"As a clam," Niki snickered. "Now, let's get him to the guest room. Yetka!" He called to the Tank as he saw him trudging down the stairs.

"Yes?" Yetka tilted his head slightly.

"Help me carry this dude to the bed. He still hasn't woken up," Nikita said, holding up the man's legs.

"OK. Yetka help," Yetka gave a small smile, trotted over, and hoisted up the man by his arms. "Man weigh nothing!"

"Yeah, for you. He weighs a lot for me," Nikita huffed as they moved over to the stairs. "Remember, you're a Tank. You're huge."

"No. Yetka tiny," The smile quickly faded and his eyes clouded.

"Aw, dude, I forgot. Sensitive subject," Nikita apologized, remembering how the other Tanks and Chargers in the gang Yetka stayed with had picked on him for being the smallest Tank they'd seen. At only 5' 7", and 194 lbs, they had called him puny, a weakling. He had cried when he was all alone. But when Yetka found Nikita and his friends, they immediately befriended him, taking pity. He eventually left the Tanks and Chargers to stay with them (and there was much rejoicing on both sides). From then on, he had felt much better about himself, though he still felt kind of self-conscious whenever someone mentioned his height, and sometimes his strength.

"It's OK. Yetka forgive Niki."

"Thanks, bro."

After Nikita and Yetka set the man down on the bed, they removed his weapons and put them in the closet. Pulling the ultramarine covers over him, Nikita sighed contentedly.

"He's all tucked in?" Lindsie came in the room, Harley following close behind.

"A-And he's still asleep?" He added.

"Yup and yup," Nikita nodded, patting the man's shoulder.

"Good," Batu walked inside and laid his head on Lindsie's shoulder. She giggled, pecking his cheek.

"Yetka say get room," Yetka gagged.

"Oh, shut up," Lindsie pouted. "Just 'cuz you're jealous and alone gives you no reason to hinder other people's love lives."

"Yetka not jealous. Yetka want to puke."

"Jealous~!"

"YETKA _NOT_ JEALOUS!" Yetka bellowed, making everyone jump.

"Holy Ba-Jeebus, man!" Batu shivered. "That scared me..." He faltered as he looked at the stirring figure in the bed. "And it woke that guy up, too..."

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_**Please review if you liked or have constructive critcism. :)**_


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